Missions
by Andrea Weiling
Summary: Another fic in my timeline. You'd better read the other parts to my timeline before you read this. Just about where Ran disappeared to for a year, and why. Shonen ai between Ran/someone from his past.
1. Default Chapter

Prologue  
  
"You will leave for a year at the very least."  
  
A year? What about the shop? What about WeiB What'll they do without me while   
I'm gone?  
  
"You are not allowed to tell anyone of this departure, even after I have told them   
to disband."  
  
Disband? Will you give me their locations? Will you keep tabs on them? Will I be  
able to find them when this is over?  
  
"You must keep this a secret."  
  
How can I keep this a secret? I'm being torn from everything that I've been living  
for, everything I've discovered in this time that I've been in Wei?. What will I do when I  
come back? Will there still be one of us here, waiting? They will hate me, of course.   
That is the whole point; when the hate me, they'll stay away from me. But when I come back   
and explain it all, will they think I am lying, or will they believe me? Will the still   
hate me because of the truth?  
  
"You have until 00:00 tonight to get ready."  
  
I wouldn't be able to do anything in that short time! Whatever I did, I can't do   
anything for anyone in that time! I can't help Omi on his homework, after all the times   
I've told him that I was busy, I can't help Ken teach soccer to the youngsters that play   
with him in the park after I've refused his offer so many times, and most of all, I can't   
tell Youji anything, can't tell him I love him...there is no time. Maybe that's the way   
that they wanted it to be. If I start saying goodbyes, then I won't be able to leave, and   
that will mess up everything.  
  
"You understand this mission, and its objectives?"  
  
No! I don't understand at all! Why am I supposed to do this? Is this mission   
worth giving up everything that is in my life now that is good? Is this mission worth   
giving Omi, giving up Ken, giving up Youji...giving up life that I know now, the good,   
comfortable life that I've learned to live after I died those years ago? Why do I have to   
give up everything I have?  
  
"Yes. I understand."  
  
"Do you agree to this mission?"  
  
No! I don't agree at all! I'll be giving up everything for a year, and people   
will hate me now, and that is not some pushover in this precariously emotional life that I   
lead. I'll be losing everything to one solitary mission, and I can't do a thing about it?   
But they will kill me if I refuse, and I can't let that happen...if others refuse after me,   
they will be killed too. I have to accept the mission for their sake, but is it really   
worth it? Do I have to give up this flicker of flame in my life for something that's   
totally unknown and foreign to m? Do I have to forsake everything for the sake of the   
better good? This is not what I wanted to agree to when I joined the ranks of the   
Underworld!  
  
"Yes. I accept this mission."  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Hmm, got this idea when I first woke up this morning. Strange how the best ideas   
seem to come to you when you first wake up in the morning sometimes...I think I have a plot   
for this story, but I'm not sure how I should spin it out for others to hear...ah, well,   
it'll come to me when I'm writing, I guess. Pressure seems to be the best motivator for me.  
  
Andrea Weiling  



	2. Flower

Ch.1: Flower  
  
He watched with a hint of regret as the little girl ran up and down the park path.   
He knew it was strange to have a sudden contemplating mood like he was in now, but as he   
watched, it reminded him of his now-awake sister, living with their aunt, their mother's   
sister. She would be all right, even if he wasn't there to watch over her like he liked to.  
He sent little things to her once in a while: the occasional envelope of just enough   
pocket money to buy a nice book he saw her fawning over, a pen when she lost her favorite   
one, a CD he saw her admiring, little things that didn't cost much, just to show that   
someone was watching over her. He was sure she knew it was already, but respected his   
distance. He didn't send things often, maybe just one every 2 months or so, but it was   
enough to let her know that he still existed, and that he still had an eye out for his   
mischievous little sister. It was enough. After all, he could do no more.  
  
"Mista, mista", the little child tugged impatiently at his sleeve. He looked down,   
and his hardened features softened into a slight smile. He knelt down to look into the   
cutely squinted eyes, and smiled when the little child boldly looked back, the face tilted   
up in an adorable smile. "Mista redhead, d'ya wanna a fwower?" The chubby hand held a   
tightly clenched flower in its grasp, the little yellow petals reminding him of someone's   
hair. For a split second his face frowned, then he smiled faintly and looked into the   
little toddler's eyes.  
  
"What do you think, little girl?"  
  
"Ya! Y'wanna a widdle fwower, doncha?"  
  
He took the flower from her gently (though it had already half-wilted in her hand),   
and patted her on the head before he stood up. The little girl just hopped up and down,   
making her jumper flounce, but he had a feeling that she didn't care. "Mista redhead, if'n   
you's a wanna anoder fwower, I can getcha one, y'kno?"  
  
He smiled again, looking at the flower. He pressed his nose to his slightly, and   
almost grimaced when no good came out of it. "Thank you for the flower, little girl", he   
said back to her. "I'll most certainly call you if I want another flower." He held out his  
hand to her, and chuckled when she looked from it to his face, from his face back to the   
outstretched hand. After a few seconds he chuckled again, and reached out to ruffle her   
hair. He hadn't smiled for a long time, but only something little, like the girl, could   
make him smile. "Shake my hand, little girl."  
  
She did so, and wobbled his arm up and down in a wave shape. As she smiled broadly   
back at him, the smile on his face widened, and he shook it one last time with resolve and   
straightened to his full height. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, little girl."  
  
"Thank ya, mista redhead!"  
  
A smile, flash of a dress, and she was gone. In place of the little shoes that   
stood at his feet a mere few moments now showed sophisticated red high heels. He didn't   
have to look up to know who it was. Who else would wear red high heels and stand with her   
hands on her hips as if she wanted something?  
  
"Manx."   
  
"Come with me."   
  
He followed, every step heavy and plodding along the way. He did not want to do   
this, he did not want to be so isolated, but the damage was done now. There was no turning   
point. This was the point of no return, and he had done it by his own choice, albeit   
reluctantly. They arrived at the parking lot, and there Manx showed him to an older man who  
reminded Ran of a very tall version of Omi, with a different haircut and smaller eyes. But  
it was uncanny how it seemed, but even though he struggled not to comment on the   
similarities, his questions were soon answered by a few curt words from an extremely deep   
voice that did not match the outlook of this person.  
  
"Aya Fujimiya, also known as Abyssinian, I presume?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I am Tsukiyono Kotaro, also known as Hotaru. I am Omi's cousin."  
  
He had nothing to say to the back turned to him, but his mind whirled with   
unanswered questions and exclamations that he dared not say out of respect. This person was  
obviously very important to Kritiker and to the mission, so he did now say anything. It   
was certainly not his place to say anything; that was the mask he donned. He was silent,   
speechless, and ignored everything that came along. That description did not fit him now,   
since he had softened considerably since he had joined Wei?, but he was still aloof and   
apart from the others, no matter how hard they tried to include him in their little group.   
He was still the solitary loner to the most of them.  
  
"Are you not surprised?"  
  
"No. You look like Omi."  
  
The man chuckled. "My little cousin Mamoru is alright?"  
  
At the name, Aya snarled and the next thing he knew, he had the man pinned to the   
ground, fist raised above his head like a snake ready to strike. Manx was instantly alert,   
and started to walk towards them, but the sight of Aya in a rage made her hesitate. He had   
the man who called Omi by his original name to the ground, and he was about to strike, but   
this person had called Omi something else, something that the youngest himself had denied.   
At this thought, the snarl came back, as well as the animalistic, wild, untamed look in his   
eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth.   
  
"What did you say?"  
  
The man said nothing, but Aya could see that the man was trying to think fast. They  
stayed that way for a few tense moments, then he levered himself up, still wary. The   
instant the man was up on his feet, cold steel of a blade raised goosebumps raised on   
Kotaro's neck. He hissed slightly through his teeth, but didn't move. This person had him   
pinned. He didn't like being caught like this; it wasn't like him. But he was unaware of  
what a ruckus the name had made, and what it meant and signified. "Why", he spoke calmly,   
trying to hold the boiling panic underneath, "does the name 'Mamoru' anger you?"  
  
Aya growled and seethed visibly. Kotaro stiffened. Manx blanched.   
  
"Ask Manx."  
  
Kotaro shifted his attention to the redheaded woman, and asked stiffly, "Why?"  
  
"Tsukiyono Omi is not Mamoru. He is Omi. Not Mamoru. Never mention that name in   
front of any of us. Omi hates it, and has put the whole past behind him. He chooses not to  
remember, and neither do any of the other team members either. They want him to be happy,   
not to remember painful things. In other words, he denied his original name 'Mamoru'. Do   
not say it again."  
  
The sword was lifted, and Kotaro relaxed. He noticed, however, Aya did not sheath   
his sword, just kept it held loosely in his hand. It was obvious that the redhead was still  
wary, that the redhead was still angry at him. He had to do something to ease the Aya's   
temper. On a sudden ruse, he lunged for the hilt of the sword, to grab it-  
  
-only to be met by rapidly rising ground as his fingers clutched air. The next   
thing he knew, he hit the ground, suffocating dust clogging his throat as a boot clamped on   
the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, and waited for the end. But after a moment, the   
boot lifted, and he was able to turn around and breath. He saw that Manx was beside him,   
looking very unconcerned for either of them, and Aya looking impassively down at him with a   
blank expression on his face. He choked and gagged on the dust for a moment, then stood up   
and dusted off his clothes. All this time, a semi-tense silence stretched between all 3 of   
them. Kotaro looked from one to the other, then said almost softly.  
  
"I didn't mean any harm."  
  
Aya turned, and regarded him with cautious eyes. "That's why I let you go. You're   
not a threat. You're too slow. Work on agility."  
  
Manx coughed, and got both men's attentions. "Is there any more you would like to   
say, Kotaro?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then go, Hotaru."  
  
The older man turned to go, but after a few steps, he stopped, his back still   
towards the 2 behind him. Words were whispered through his lips, hesitantly, haltingly, but  
Aya heard every word as loud as if it were screaming right in his ear.   
  
"Is he alright?"  
  
For a moment, no one spoke. Aya knew the question was meant for him. A slight   
glance to his left told him that Manx would not answer his question.   
  
"He's fine. He's happy."  
  
The steps walked away from him, and Aya left for his apartment, Manx left for   
wherever she went. The meeting was over. Words had been exchanged, scuffles broken out and  
resolved, but the memory of it still lingered in his mind. This person, this Tsukiyono   
Kotaro, was not what he seemed. He had a codename, 'Hotaru'. Was he an assassin as well?   
Was he one of them? Was he another permanent resident in the Underworld? Was he someone he  
could relate to, compare to, and not feel abashed to do? Was anyone good enough for that?   
Was this person just as lonely as he was?   
  
Was this person so desperate that he would ask someone like him to help? He never   
needed help himself, so it was an unfamiliar gesture. This man who claimed to be Omi's   
cousin...could he trust him? He would have to see if Omi trusted this person first, or if   
anyone. He would not do anything before that for this person. It was for the best. This   
person seemed trustworthy, not capable of sorrow, not having gone through it previously, but  
everyone had their masks. They just had to be disposed of, but no one could completely   
unhide himself. There was a saying that people could 'bare their souls completely', but it   
was a lie, as he found. Could this person be infidently more cheerful than Omi? It was   
just a mask, but perhaps Omi really believed in it.  
  
Omi's mask was flawless, except for dire times that called for tears and comfort.   
Those were expected in an occupation like theirs, but he knew himself that his mask was not   
flawless, not after Youji had peeked under it and broken the string binding it to his head.  
Now, he would smile faintly at almost everything he saw, and he could never keep the smile  
at bay for as long as he had when he first joined WeiB. It was uncanny how his team   
members penetrated his mask that had been so flawless just before. But they were just   
masks, just the outlook. They weren't really happy in truth. They were always crying.   
Smiling through a thousand tears, as he had heard it once. But could there really be people  
that were truly happy?  
  
He was getting off the subject.   
  
Who did this Tsukiyono Kotaro think he was anyways?  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
My chapters are getting shorter and shorter...well, that's alright. I was going to   
put the next chapter and this chapter together, but I decided against it. Just a note:   
hotaru means "firefly" in Japanese.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	3. Flicker Becomes Flame

Ch.2: Flicker Becomes Flame  
  
"Aya! Will you move those to the other side of the counter?" He looked up at the   
voice, and saw the concerned face of the shop owner peering down at him. Amusement and a   
clouding of something akin to kindness and sincerity bordered his features, and he did as he  
was told. He obviously still had a day job; it had been assigned to him by Manx,   
obviously, but it brought thoughts of WeiB into his mind often. It was at a member of   
Kritiker's floral shop, also her day job, so there was much that they could talk about. He   
did not know much about the Kritiker part of her jobs, but he did know much about her day   
job, since she did own the floral shop and he worked in it. She was very kind, very caring,  
and even when she had a night job similar to his. Manx no longer came to deliver his   
missions; she got them for him, and since he was staying with her above the shop. But that   
also meant something else; he had no news from Manx about WeiB, and that worried him. He   
did not know if they hated him or still had faith that he would return, but he would be gone  
a year...did they know that? No. They would be clinging to a false hope, the hope that he  
might actually return. Perhaps it would be better if he didn't go looking for them after   
this was over...he had no doubt that it would be the said former: they hated him. He, the   
serious one, just when he had actually made him open up a little bit, he ran off to god-  
knows-where? Even he knew that was not being a 'friend'.  
  
The tinkle of bells signaled the coming of another customer. He did not look up as   
he murmured, "Good day" almost tonelessly, but froze as a familiar voice held him in place.  
  
"Looks like you fit in here, Abyssinian."  
  
He stiffened, straightened, and met the gaze of a red-haired woman better known as   
Manx. He nodded to her, and turned back to his work. His heart gave a leap and skipped a   
beat. Did she check up on the other members of Wei?? Were they doing well in the shop   
without him? Did Sakura still ask to see him? Was Aya-chan living alright? Did Youji   
still love him? Did any of them still love him? Were they still taking missions? Was Omi   
doing alright in school? Questions bubbled just on the verge of being blurted out, but he   
kept his tight-lipped-ness and worked on the arrangement in front of him. Excited, Manx   
noted the shaking fingers that arranged the flowers in a beautiful basket, and smiled   
slightly. She waved her greeting to Calais, the owner of the shop and another fellow   
Kritiker member, and turned back to Aya, still busy-looking, occupied with the arrangement   
in front of him.   
  
"Anxious to hear about your team members?"  
  
Aya whirled around against his own accord, and blurted out an ungainly, "YES!"  
  
"That's the first time you've lost control of your mask."  
  
"That doesn't matter anymore. Is Ken still teaching? Youji gone back to the P.I.   
business? Omi still doing well in school? Are they alright? Does my sister know about me?  
Is Sakura a good friend to her-?"  
  
Manx held up her hands, stopping the flow of chatter that came quickly like rapid   
fire from her employee's mouth. "Steady, now. I don't think I've ever heard you say so   
much in so little time, nor seen you act like some little child asking their mother for   
something. But I will not, repeat, WILL NOT answer your questions. I have a meeting to   
attend. Everything is in here." She handed him a disk and turned her heel, but did not   
walk out the door. Aya stared at the disk in his hand, and stilled the trembling hand that   
held it. "The disk", she continued, "has a small part about everyone's lives right now, as   
well as several pictures I took of them when I visited, secretly of course, as well as the   
statistics for your next mission. Good day."  
  
He did not answer the goodbye, just mutely stared at the disk in his hand. Only   
when Calais laid a hand on his shoulder and jerked her thumb to the back room did he break   
out of his trance. A customer arrived, and Calais went to meet him/her, while shooting Aya   
a look that purely said "GET GOING". He looked back at the disk, and realized that he could  
answer all of his questions with this disk. On a sudden burst of excitement, he dashed to   
the back room, and booted up the computer. He had a little bit of training from Calais, and  
he when the startup was complete, he popped in the disk and started to read.  
  
There was much on the disk, but the information was satisfying. Ken was still   
teaching soccer, Youji was back to his first business, and Omi was in school. He skipped   
the mission details, and opened up the other document. It was not short, but not   
extensively long. His belief that they hated him dissipated as he read:  
  
To: Persia, or to any others whom this might concern  
From: The members of WeiB  
  
For some time now, our teammate Aya/Ran Fujimiya, codenamed Abyssinian, has been missing for  
quite some time now. We desire to have him back on our team is spurred by the fact that he  
is our leader, and we have not been able to carry out the last few missions as smoothly as   
we did before without him. This only proves our next point: we cannot function as well as   
we did without him. As a very trivial part of Kritiker, we wish to request a search for   
our teammate, to find him and to make sure that he is still alive.  
  
Please note that even if you do not give us permission to conduct such a search or have not   
already done so yourself, we will go ahead and proceed with the search. We do not want to   
intrude upon his own matters, but if we must do so to find him, we will. He is a vital part  
of our team, perhaps the most important, being he is the one that makes all the plans, and   
able to bring all of us together. He has always been a very strong part of the team, not   
the front lines, perhaps, but the strong backbone that kept us together and willing to   
follow his orders. He is one of us, and therefore WeiB is not complete without him.  
  
The next are some words from each of the members of WeiB on a personal basis:  
  
Tsukiyono Omi:  
  
I believe that Ran Fujimiya, also known as the leader of Weib, as a friend and   
mentor, as a brother, as a teacher and just a personal enigma to others, had a heart. He   
was always very cold and very detached from the rest of us, but all of us were used to   
opening up to the pain and sorrow that our job called for. It was not healthy, as the rest   
of us had found, to keep it all bottled up inside. We took some of the burden, and he knew   
that we were doing it even though he didn't like it, and he never said a word of 'thanks' or  
showed any gratitude at all. But perhaps that can be proven that he has helped us, on a   
way. We now try harder for everything because we tried so hard to get him to relate to us.   
We wanted to help him, and at first he pushed us away, then he grudgingly agreed, then he   
started to smile, and all of us were happy until the day he was gone. There was nothing   
wrong with him the day before, so we were all very surprised at his disappearance. But   
perhaps it was not unexpected; Ran has always had his own personal reasons for everything he  
does, and we believe that this is only a temporary detachment. But please let us search   
for him. It just doesn't seem quite right around the flower shop without him.  
  
Hidaka Ken:  
  
Ran has always made me mad. He was always so cold and unemotional. That all changed when   
his sister was captured and all chaos was turned loose in his life. He fell apart.   
Literally. We had to help him, and while we did in our respective ways, we found a man so   
emotionally weak under that strong defense barrier that we were shocked. THIS was Ran, the   
strong one of the group, the leader, the impassive stone, as I liked to call it? He was so   
weak, so incredibly weak, and we all wanted to help him. For once, he accepted the help   
with grateful but timid hands. I guess he was afraid that this good thing in life wouldn't   
last as well...his sister, for a while, seemed like she wouldn't last, so why should we?   
Well, for one, we were assassins, trained to kill, trained to take emotional strain. But   
the pressure on him had been too much; now, instead of leaning on him, we had reversed   
roles. We were now helping him, being the strong ones, instead of him being the strong. He  
never helped with anything, of course, but that was just like him. It wouldn't have been   
the same if he hadn't been aloof and silent and pensive all the time. He was the wary one   
of the group, and that was exactly what we needed. Without him we were blind. He saw   
things that we didn't, the little details of life that escaped our attention as everyday   
occurrences. He learned to appreciate life, while we just toyed around with it. We could   
live it while we had already died, or we could just end it. Somehow, he never failed to   
inspire me that there WERE things in life that were worth living for. He was one of them.   
Return him to us, at the very least tell us where he is, because he's part of us, an   
unseparable part. We love him, that's all. Please let us search for him, at the least. I   
promise we'll leave you alone after this.  
  
Kudou Youji:  
  
Ran Fujimiya probably meant more to me than to anyone else in this world...though I loathe   
to tell anyone of this, I guess this is the only way to make you understand: I was his   
lover. Hmm, I never thought of myself to fall in love with such a complete cold piece of   
stone, but somehow he thawed this heart of mine. It had been ice before, but he warmed it,   
melted the icy surface, and I could breathe again and find that I enjoyed every breath of   
day, every sight of Omi running through the door from school, every scene where little kids   
piled around Ken and demanded he play with them tomorrow. But most of all, I could just sit  
and watch him at night, watch him breathe, in and out, that life-giving gesture that was   
done so effortlessly, but meant so much. He was still living, and I partly believed it was   
because of me that he still lived and breathed; to be with me. Well, his departure was a   
complete surprise, but I can't seem to get myself to hate him. That's what comes out of   
true love; you can't hate the person you love, no matter what they do to you. And now, I   
must say like some kind of romantic, it feels so lonely when I'm in bed and there's no one   
beside me to warm me. Now I'm the solitary one. But if you find him, contact me, give me   
at least an address. I won't do anything to contact him if he wants to be alone, but I   
still love him, no matter what happens, I'll always be there for him, friend or lover. I   
still have a heart that he saved for me, and I'm determined to love him to the ends of time.  
But of course, it may not be the same kind of love, but if you find him, tell him I love   
him, always. Always and forever, his little hopeless romantic.   
  
Please, Persia, file a search for him. He means so much to us that we cannot express in   
words what he means to us. To return him would be like returning a missing part of a   
beautiful puzzle picture to us; it's not the same without him. We will still be living in   
the Koneko No Sume Ie until October 3, a Wednesday. After that, we will not be living at   
the shop anymore. Please contact us of any search results before that date.   
  
The members of WeiB  
  
For the first time in a long, long time, he knelt his head on the keyboard and shed   
tears. Tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of happiness, he wasn't sure of which, but he   
was so relieved that he didn't see Calais walk in. She took one look at him, smiled, and   
walked out. But he didn't notice. All he could see was the screen in front of him, the   
letter, the words and letters that swam blurrily in front of him, but he didn't care. They   
still liked him, they didn't hate him, they still wanted him to come back, after so many   
weeks of disappearance, they still wanted him to come back. They were so trustworthy of him  
that he almost felt like asking them to hate him, but it wouldn't work. They were his   
'family', against his own will, but perhaps it was a good thing that they had opened his   
heart and opened his mind out to the world. They themselves weren't as perspective of life   
as he was, but they were just as enjoying it. They liked the life they lived during the   
day, the sunshine, the people, the flowers, the shop. Even the killing and the missions by   
night paled in comparison to their optimism and cheerfulness that lightened the atmosphere.   
All the memories crowded in his head brought unseen tears to his eyes, but they fell from   
happiness.   
  
Oh, he loved them all so much. They were the adoptive family that he took care of,   
against his own conscience, but he learned to love them back, in his own way. At least, he   
found, it had paid off. They were still his family, even though he was miles and miles   
away, they still had hope. They were such family that he now knew, and he wouldn't let that  
slip through his fingers like he had with his first one.  
  
No, he would return to them. He would fulfill that hope that he would return,   
because they were family. And they were one and unseparable.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Treat this as the emotional version of "When You Gonna Learn". Personally, I love   
that fic, but that's not the place where I got the idea. Enjoy.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	4. Solid White Past

Ch.3: Solid White Past  
  
It was an odd place to meet, he thought with a frown. Why had Hotaru decided on   
a place such as this to meet?  
  
But it was familiar. Still, to that day, the same people walked by, their white lab  
coats billowing out behind them. Whitewashed walls surrounded him, blinding him once again  
like it had that fateful night that had become just a dull ache in his heart. Aya-chan,   
after all, was already awake and kicking (not literally!), Takatori was dead, everything   
that had happened to his family in the past had been resolved, taken down by his own bare   
hands. As he passed Aya-chan's room, he looked at it, then down at the address that had the  
room number he would meet the others. Surprised, he looked at the number, from the paper,   
back up to the plate by the door. They both read "308", to his surprise. He pushed open   
the door, and was met by a familiar sight. The bed was still in its original place under   
the window, and the window was open, pouring liquid sunshine all over the pillows. Beside   
the bed, there was still a machine that beeped every other second, and the screen showed a   
green line that waved up and down in front of his eyes. Almost against his will, he walked   
over, and traced the lines as they moved. Absentmindedly his eyes followed the IV cord from  
the machine over to the arm, up the person's arm, and froze.  
  
The face was so familiar, from so long ago. It looked different from years of work,  
but he could tell it was the same person. The aura that he could pick up was the same   
innocent type that this person always was. Looking at the young face, he realized that this  
person couldn't be any older than Omi, still under 20, still young and carefree and   
deserving to live a normal life. This person still had hope for the future, while he was   
doomed to spend his life as one of Kritiker's lackeys. Almost reminded him of Omi, but it   
wasn't the same.  
  
"So, you've found him, I see."  
  
His hand poised in midair, about to grasp the hand that lay limp on the bed, and   
suddenly another puzzle piece clicked into place, and another question popped up in his   
mind. The voice, the voice was so familiar that he could almost see the image behind him   
that spoke even before he turned around. The person he hadn't seen for so many years was   
behind him was speaking, but suddenly he found that he couldn't believe this person would be  
there-  
  
-but he was, as he whirled around. Fair hair that glistened in the sun, brown eyes   
that could quicken to coldness during a mission, or soften at the sight of a little girl   
eating ice cream down the street. He was a man of emotions as much as Ran was a man of   
indifference. He was, in all ways, his balancing counterpart; they canceled each other out,  
like a math equation. And again, there was no question that this person was exactly who he  
thought it would be. After meeting his eye for a few moments, his head ducked low, humbly.  
This person wasn't the easiest of people who would understand.  
  
"What are you doing here, Rook?"  
  
"I might ask you the same, Knight."  
  
A swift click of boot heels on the tile floor, the rush of wind at him, those were   
the only warnings he got before a strong hand gripped his shirt collar and forced violet to   
meet brown. He couldn't read any other emotion there other than anger, so he closed his   
eyes and waited for the end of the fight. He didn't struggle, even when he was lifted up   
from the ground and straight at the other's face. Knight's breath pounded at him, but he   
could only feel the anger and resentment that he radiated, and paid attention to nothing   
else.  
  
"Don't CALL ME BY THAT NAME!", Knight threw him into the bed, seething, vision   
almost red from the blood that rose with his quick temper. "My name is Honjyou Yuuji."  
  
Slowly, so that his former friend wouldn't be suspicious he was doing anything, he   
got up, and slowly raised his eyes to meet Knight's. "Nice to meet you, Yuuji."  
  
After a moment, Knight gave a satisfied smirk/smile, and asked back, "And you are?"  
  
"Ran. Ran Fujimiya is my name."  
  
The smile remained on for a few seconds after he said that, then dropped as he   
watched Knight walk to the side of the bed alongside him, hesitantly and almost as if he was  
afraid. He watched as the other man cupped a hand, still heavy and asleep, against his   
cheek, and the eyes take on a disbelieving look.   
  
"It was like yesterday...yesterday was so long ago, though."  
  
Ran stood silent. He waited for the story to play out.  
  
"Rook", Knight used his old nickname. "There is no more Crashers. We practically   
died on a mission. I didn't escape unscathed." He pulled up the sleeve on his arm,   
exposing a long, horizontal gash that would probably remain there for the rest of his life.   
"All that's left of Crashers is me, and him." He looked at the figure on the bed and   
whispered hoarsely, "He was so young. And he didn't die or become like this in a battle,   
either."  
  
Ran didn't dare open his mouth. He didn't quite trust it at that moment.  
  
"He went into a coma because of the school that your mission talked about. St.   
Joseph Boys' Institute of Obedience, to be exact, Rook. That's one sick school, but there's  
no evidence of anything, no evidence except for this", he gestured to the figure on the   
bed. "Such a pity...Pawn was so young...what did he do to be done this?"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Knight still held onto the hand like it was a lifeline, that it might somehow wake   
his partner up somehow. "How? How?", he gave a rueful little laugh that sounded more like   
a sob. "They raped him. That's what. Over and over and over again. There were too many   
of them, and we found him sent to one of Kritiker's main hospitals, the inconspicuous ones.   
He was brought here. And that's how I was contacted and brought here. I visit him   
everyday, you know, just in case, maybe some miracle will happen...but it sure hasn't   
happened yet."  
  
He did the only thing he could do. He laid a hand on Knight's shoulder, and   
slightly leaned on it, the same action he did many years ago, when he was in a contemplating  
mood after a mission. It always drained him physically, so he was forced to deliberate   
mentally. Those times, he could tell that Knight was doing the same thing. They both hoped  
that they could get out of Kritiker one day, but then a part of them told them to stay.   
After all, justice had to be served on a silver dish by SOMEONE, didn't it?  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You mean 'why did they do that to him?'", Knight turned soulful eyes on him, and he  
nodded just once. "Why? 'Cause they're sick bastards, that's why. They do it for fun.   
No point at all, except to amuse themselves. I just wish that Pawn would've fought back,   
but there were probably too many of them to handle. I wish I'd been there, though. I hate   
being and feeling so incredibly helpless and small, not even able to save the only life   
that's left in Crashers except for mine!"  
  
He didn't trust himself to say anything at that moment.  
  
"Rook, what'll happen to him? What do you think I should do? Should I continue   
like this, or should I just pull the plug from the machine and let him die?"  
  
"Aya-chan woke up after 6 years in a coma. This is the very room she resided in.   
Let him live. You're right, Knight, miracles to happen. But wait for it, don't push your   
luck too far. Wait, and have some patience."  
  
At the sound of his old name, Knight looked to him, and began to cry.  
  
* * *  
  
"What is your name?", his voice was impassive and cold as it could be as he spoke.  
  
"Why did you bring me here?", a younger boy spoke, a question to counter a question.  
  
"To ask you about the school you go to."  
  
The boy stopped, and looked at him. "I'll go quietly with you."   
  
He led the boy to his car, motioning to the passenger seat, and he drove them to the   
temporary apartment. The drive was quiet. The boy didn't talk. Even at the apartment, the  
answers he got for his questions were "Aa", "yes", and "no". The boy settled for a cup of   
water, him for tea, and the questioning began.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Mikhail. Mikhail Epstein."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"I'm 18."  
  
"What is wrong about the school?"  
  
"It is run by not the teachers or staff or principal. It is run by the kids.   
Actually, I should say, it is overrun by the kids."  
  
"Who is in charge?"  
  
"Them."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"A group of people called simply "Them" is in charge. They rule the school with an   
iron grip."  
  
"And what do they do to people who disobey?"  
  
"They rape them."  
  
He was at the end of his questioning sheet. Yet, he found he had to ask.  
  
"Do you know a boy called Tsukiyono Omi?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Did you know a boy called Uhyou Naru?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'll drive you back."  
  
The drive back was just as silent as it was before. Yet, he could feel that   
something had changed in his questioning. This boy now trusted him at least a notch more,   
and he could account for that. But the strange thing was when they pulled into the school   
lot.   
  
"We're here."  
  
"Just drop me off."  
  
The boy turned to shut the door behind him, but instead he turned, and looked   
straight at him for a moment. Then he turned away, and jogged towards the main entrance.   
He looked at the retreating back with something close to friendliness. Now he was sure that  
at least Omi would have one person on his side.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
Hmm, Pawn's in a coma, aye? Well, that's a twist. I don't think I planned that   
beforehand, though. This is kinda, sorta, a little bit, a KnightxRan fic, but whatever you   
want. I'm just implying it, but the outcome at the very end might be a little different, so  
don't take my word now.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	5. Missions

Ch.4: Missions  
  
In a flash, the wire was out and coiled in his hand, ready to strangle whoever came   
into his office without knocking. He shouldn't have bothered. He looked at the newcomer,   
at her high heels that clicked inticingly on the wooden vinyl floor, and at her snazzy red   
suit that seemed to be tailored to her size. Perhaps it was, but he would never know. He   
unwound the wire and heard it reel back into the watch on his wrist. He sat back down, and   
faced her.  
  
"Why why, if it isn't Manx."  
  
"Good day, Balinese."  
  
"What? Leaving so soon? Why not have some fun?"  
  
The corners of Manx's lips turned upwards a little. "I think you hardly need that   
with Tamiko to entertain you at night."  
  
He turned red. But it quickly faded as Manx handed a folder to him. He took it   
with his usual grace, and looked on the cover where 'Balinese' was scrawled. Under it, in   
the same lettering, there was a 'Siberian'. He looked up hopefully at Manx. "You're   
teaming us up again?"  
  
"Don't you like it?"  
  
"Of course! Makes it feel just like old times..." He trailed off, and Manx had no   
doubt in her mind that she knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling at that moment.   
She took the envelope from him, and pulled out the first sheet of paper, then after   
confirming this was the one she sought for, handed it to him. He took it in puzzlement, but  
his eyes lit up when he found that it was from 'someone'. Shocked, he looked up at her and  
asked disbelievingly, "Where did you get this?"  
  
"We're tracking Aya. This was found at the last place he was living at. In his   
trash can. We typed it up for you. Previously, it was just as messy as that handwriting on  
the cover of that folder." She nodded at the said folder, and added, "But I daresay you   
think that this is all bogus."  
  
There was no answer. He was too busy reading the letter. Still, she raised her   
hand in farewell and went out the door. Absentmindedly he returned the act, and continued   
to read.  
  
Once outside of the room, the man right outside the door turned quickly to her and   
asked, "Well?"  
  
"Aya, please be patient. But somehow, I don't think he does anymore. It's not a   
good thing to have Ken pose as Tamiko for much longer. We're going to have to find a way to  
reveal him. But for now, Siberian and Balinese have their hands full with soccer and   
investigating and missions. Don't bother them just yet."  
  
Without a word, just a grimace, he turned and walked down the hall. She watched him  
go, and suddenly she found that he looked smaller, more diminuitive. He's a man lost,   
she thought. I only hope he can find his way back again.  
  
* * *  
  
"Siberian, what's the address again?"  
  
"I swear, this is the millionth time I've said this! And we're still in the car,   
Youji, we don't need to use codenames in the car where no one can hear us anyways!"  
  
The car skidded to a halt in front of a grated metal door, just a tad bit darker   
than the sky above. Youji turned towards Ken, and snapped, "This is the place?"  
  
"Yep. Don't know where the contact is, though."  
  
Almost on cue, a slight sound to Youji's side emerged, like the scrape of something   
on the car door. It was all the warning that they needed; wire came out coiled and ready,   
bugnuks were unsheathed from their glove. But there was not much that happened. The car   
door opened, and both were immediately disgruntled by the hail of rain that pattered into   
the car. Quickly Youji climbed out, ready to face whatever there was to face out there, and   
Ken quickly followed. There was nothing out there except for rain, clouds, and a man.  
  
They did not need to ask if he was the contact or not. He simply was.  
  
Only when the lightning split the sky did they become interested.  
  
"Omi?"  
  
The man shifted his weight to the other foot. "No", he stated in a deep voice too   
deep to be Omi's, "I'm not Omi. My name is Tsukiyono Kotaro, codenamed Hotaru. I'm a   
Kritiker agent. There is not much to this mission. You go in, one of you, preferably you",  
he nodded at Youji. "You", he looked at Ken, "should go to the back of this school and   
retrieve the police car I've borrowed. On the dashboard there's a fake police ID. When   
Balinese brings the gang out of the school, you will assist in putting them in cars.   
Remember to show your certification. The rest if up to you." Then, as an afterthought, the  
voice came again and murmured in low tones, "Tell Omi 'hi' for me. White hunters hunt the   
dark beasts of tomorrow."  
  
There was no more person there. He was gone. They blinked, and stared, but nothing  
was there.  
  
Needless to say, the mission was accomplished.  
  
But Tsukiyono Kotaro was reported missing from that date on.  
  
And Youji never relayed his message to Omi.  
  
* * *  
  
He could still remember the incredulous looks on their faces when they entered.   
Shocked, the 2 former members of Schwartz stared at him, at his familiar lilt and walk, at   
the very red hair and violet eyes in disbelief. He figured that they had heard from   
Kritiker that he was missing and presumed dead. It had all been part of the plan, though.   
There was nothing to it, to just tell them that he was dead. If he was dead, than he was a   
zombie, or a ghost, right?  
  
Wrong. He wasn't dead.  
  
Not yet, that is.  
  
"What are you doing here?", Crawford's monotone voice asked him while the face   
turned back to the arrangement that he was currently doing. He shrugged, and asked back,   
"I could ask you the same question."  
  
Schuldich wasted no time in prying vocally. He could tell that he didn't want to   
expend his power into his mind, though it was almost second nature to him. "Well", the   
nasal voice drawled a little, "you have a place to stay?"  
  
He shook his head. Schuldich pointed upstairs to his old room. "Get settled in."  
  
He nodded, but didn't smile or speak. The old Aya Fujimiya, also known as   
Abyssinian, was back. Mask on, emotions off. That was just the way it was. And now, that   
he had lost everything he had worked for, only the dregs of tea were left, but the aroma   
that was left was still sweet. But memories were only good to wallow in, and wish you could  
relive them. There was no use in them, unless on a mission. But, perhaps, this was a   
mission.  
  
Life itself was a mission. The mission to survive.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \   
  
Author's note:  
  
Well, that was interesting. I think part of the reason my chapters are getting   
shorter and shorter is because my friend once told me that she never read my fanfiction   
because the chapters were too long and she didn't want to scroll down all the time. But   
still, I'll make it longer. The next chapter is the facts that you already know. It's in   
the form of flashbacks and dialogue, so keep up with it. Just read it, it'll take too long   
to explain anyways.  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	6. Epilogue

Ch.5: Epilogue  
  
"So it's over, isn't it?"  
"Aa."  
* * *  
  
Vaguely he remembered the offer Knight had given him those years ago, when they were  
still together, an unseparable couple, lovers, but Fate drew them apart.  
  
"I'll be there if you ever need me, Rook."  
  
He wondered if that offer still stood.  
  
* * *  
  
"You know, I didn't expect to see you so soon, Rook. I thought I wouldn't see you   
again at all."  
  
"Does your offer still stand?"  
  
A pause in the talk, all idle chatter.  
  
"Yeah. It still does."  
  
He leaned forward and placed his lips on the other's.  
  
* * *  
  
"Are you sure about this, Rook?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Youji is doing alright with Tamiko or Ken or whoever it is?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You've let go."  
  
"Not really. But I will, in time."  
  
"Then I guess we'll be seeing each other a bit more often than I anticipated. It   
was a good date. But you could try talking next time."  
  
A half-smile, but a smile nonetheless.  
  
"Aa."  
  
* * *  
  
"No, Youji. Not Tamiko. Ken."  
  
He watched the face grow pale with disbelief, and recognition. He admired Youji for  
that.  
  
He wasn't as strong as his friend.  
  
* * *  
  
"I heard you're going out with Knight."  
  
"His name is Honjyou Yuuji, Youji."  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"Good."  
  
"How is that good?"  
  
"It's not good to dwell in the past, Aya." Youji turned to face him. "You, of all   
people, should have learned that by now."  
  
He had no answer.  
  
"But you know", Youji continued. "I'm glad you got over it."  
  
No answer, again.  
  
"But what I said in that letter...I'll be there, even though not as a lover, but as   
a comrade and as a friend. All of us will always be there for you. To share and bear your   
burdens. Never hesitate to ask for our help, 'cause we'll be there for you. Always."  
  
He had no answer, again, but perhaps there was no need for one.  
  
* * *  
  
"I love you, Rook."  
  
A pause, then a hesitant, very soft reply.  
  
"I...love you too, Knight."  
  
In the darkness of the room and the night, they smiled at each other, and everything  
in his world was once again right.   
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
The sole purpose of this epilogue was to take up space. Hmm, well, this fic's   
finished. That's good. Now I can get started on my other fics... "Brother Brother, Sister   
Sister" is still giving me writer's block. Oh well, I don't like it all that much, maybe   
I'll change it into something else.  
  
Andrea Weiling  



	7. Epilogue

Ch.5: Epilogue  
  
"So it's over, isn't it?"  
"Aa."  
* * *  
  
Vaguely he remembered the offer Knight had given him those years ago, when they were  
still together, an unseparable couple, lovers, but Fate drew them apart.  
  
"I'll be there if you ever need me, Rook."  
  
He wondered if that offer still stood.  
  
* * *  
  
"You know, I didn't expect to see you so soon, Rook. I thought I wouldn't see you   
again at all."  
  
"Does your offer still stand?"  
  
A pause in the talk, all idle chatter.  
  
"Yeah. It still does."  
  
He leaned forward and placed his lips on the other's.  
  
* * *  
  
"Are you sure about this, Rook?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Youji is doing alright with Tamiko or Ken or whoever it is?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You've let go."  
  
"Not really. But I will, in time."  
  
"Then I guess we'll be seeing each other a bit more often than I anticipated. It   
was a good date. But you could try talking next time."  
  
A half-smile, but a smile nonetheless.  
  
"Aa."  
  
* * *  
  
"No, Youji. Not Tamiko. Ken."  
  
He watched the face grow pale with disbelief, and recognition. He admired Youji for  
that.  
  
He wasn't as strong as his friend.  
  
* * *  
  
"I heard you're going out with Knight."  
  
"His name is Honjyou Yuuji, Youji."  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"Good."  
  
"How is that good?"  
  
"It's not good to dwell in the past, Aya." Youji turned to face him. "You, of all   
people, should have learned that by now."  
  
He had no answer.  
  
"But you know", Youji continued. "I'm glad you got over it."  
  
No answer, again.  
  
"But what I said in that letter...I'll be there, even though not as a lover, but as   
a comrade and as a friend. All of us will always be there for you. To share and bear your   
burdens. Never hesitate to ask for our help, 'cause we'll be there for you. Always."  
  
He had no answer, again, but perhaps there was no need for one.  
  
* * *  
  
"I love you, Rook."  
  
A pause, then a hesitant, very soft reply.  
  
"I...love you too, Knight."  
  
In the darkness of the room and the night, they smiled at each other, and everything  
in his world was once again right.   
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \  
  
Author's note:  
  
The sole purpose of this epilogue was to take up space. Hmm, well, this fic's   
finished. That's good. Now I can get started on my other fics... "Brother Brother, Sister   
Sister" is still giving me writer's block. Oh well, I don't like it all that much, maybe   
I'll change it into something else.  
  
Andrea Weiling  



End file.
